


Going Easy

by shopfront



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: F/F, Flirting, Missing Scene, Sparring, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-06 12:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12211080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shopfront/pseuds/shopfront
Summary: Minkowski and Lovelace aren't enemies, exactly. But they're not friends either, and it seems prudent that they find a way to work together better - even if it involves a little bloodshed.





	Going Easy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Glinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glinda/gifts).



> The violence warning has been ticked to be safe, but this fic only contains violence in the form of (willing, risk informed) participation in sparring. It also contains an accidental sparring head injury.
> 
> Set somewhat ambiguously towards the end of season two, but could potentially also be seen as missing scenes from season three/early season four that somehow go entirely uninterrupted by SI-5.

The first punch lands, but barely, just a love tap glancing across her hip and making her breath catch as she pivots and dances away.

One, two, dodge. Don’t get caught out again, don’t underestimate her. Don’t be distracted by the sparkle of joy in her eyes as she advances. One, two, block, hit back, miss.

Her breath is loud in her own ears, the pound of blood drowning out her thoughts. There’s nothing but her, the makeshift mat, the dull gleam of metal walls in their makeshift sparring room -

One, two, collision -

\- and Lovelace. 

A flash of eyes widening, a sharp warmth spreading from her temple, sweat in her eyelashes, stinging, and the mat rushing up to meet her face.

\- Down.

*

“This was reckless of you,” says Hilbert. “I am unpleasantly surprised by your behaviour, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah,” Eiffel says, tone clearly torn between amusement and mock disapproval. “What he said!”

“I must agree with the others,” Hera chimes in, the final nail in the coffin that has Renée rolling her eyes even though it makes her headache worse. “We have limited medical supplies, and with your current choice of exercise there is a twelve point three percent chance of unacceptable injury.”

“Do I detect disapproval in your voice, Hera?” Renée asks, holding a chemical cold pack against her head with one hand and fending off Hilbert with the other.

“My primary purpose is to ensure your wellbeing.”

“So that’s a yes, then,” Eiffel points out with an obnoxious grin.

Lovelace just smirks, reclined against the wall nearest the exit but still comfortably within Renée’s line of vision. There’s an air of smugness about her, one which riles Renée up even though she’d watched as it had emerged only moments before. Those moments when Hilbert had finally deigned to confirm that the head injury was minor and the bleeding profuse but to be expected.

“Oh, please,” Renée starts to say. “If you’d read it you’d know that the Deep Space Survival Procedure and Protocol Manual insists on-“

She stutters to a stop in surprise when Hera interrupts her with a scoffing noise that Renée didn’t know her speaker system was capable of making.

“Minkowski’s right,” says Lovelace, finally pushing off from the wall and joining the group. “Can’t be letting ourselves waste away up here.”

“Oh, please, yourself,” says Eiffel with a wave of his hand and a distinctly dismissive ‘pssh’ noise afterward that’s eerily similar to Hera’s. “You’re just as bored as the rest of us. Don’t blame military protocol just because you’re going stir-crazy and need to hit something.”

“I concur with Officer Eiffel,” says Hilbert, though the strain in his tone suggests he’s loathe to admit it. “Might I suggest a return to searching for Speciman 34 as a more productive, and possibly less dangerous, alternative?”

“I might be more dangerous than a Plant Monster,” snaps Lovelace, shouldering her way past the others and hooking Renée up onto her feet by her elbow. “But at least I’ll try and pull my punches.”

Renée opens her mouth to protest the insinuation that even a pulled punch would be enough to land her in medical, but Lovelace just cuts a quick glare at her and then drags her toward the exit.

“I do hope you aren’t intending to return to your ‘military training protocols’,” Hera says, voice following them out into the corridor. Her tone makes it clear what she thinks of the idea.

“No, Hera,” says Renée with a sigh.

“I’ll take her straight to her quarters,” Lovelace confirms, making Renée look at her in surprise. “What? I caused that,” she says, tilting her head at the gigantic white bandage blur now taking up residence in the corner of Renée’s vision, “the least I can do is make sure you don’t make it worse.”

Renée watches Lovelace covertly as they walk down the corridor together slowly. “Command instincts asserting themselves?” she finally asks reluctantly, and when Lovelace gives a tight nod Renée shrugs and relaxes, picking up her pace to keep abreast with her. “I suppose I can understand that.”

She doesn’t pretend to herself that they have privacy, that Hera has or even can withdraw completely. But she still finds herself saying a quiet “thank you,” even as she thinks it’ll probably be thrown in her face next time someone tries to talk her around on the question of whether to trust (or not) Lovelace. 

The rest of their short walk is in silence, but it feels more companionable somehow. When they reach Renée’s quarters, Lovelace doesn’t hover or try and push in like the others might. She just drops her at the door and keeps going after exchanging a smile that’s really more of a grimace. Renée watches her turn the corner with a thoughtful expression, one hand on her hip and the other holding her door open, until Lovelace has completely gone from sight.

That woman was a puzzle and a half, that was for sure.

*

It takes a week, and the bandage coming off to reveal the cut had already mostly healed, before Lovelace broaches the subject of sparring again.

“Feel like blowing off some steam?” she asks, hovering uncertainly over Renée’s shoulder where she’s sat at a terminal.

Renée lets the tapping of her fingers on the keyboard slow to a stop, and then smiles. “You’re on,” she says. “But don’t expect me to go easy on you just because I’m injured.”

Lovelace snorts. “Don’t expect _me_ to go easy on _you_ ,” is all she says in reply, and then she’s gone as quickly as she’d arrived, leaving Renée to make her way to her quarters to change into workout gear alone.

*

One, two, dodge. Lovelace is moving cautiously. Part of Renée crows triumphantly, willing and able to take advantage of any incompletely buried guilt, but part of her misses the sheer joy of the fight from their last encounter. One, two, grapple.

They hit the mat together this time, the air leaving Renée’s lungs with an oomph.

Lovelace freezes above her, eyes wide again with concern, and Renée doesn’t think. She just moves. Brings her legs up, twists, and then she’s up and over and Lovelace is the one splayed out on the floor in surprise.

She settles back against the cradle of Lovelace’s hips, and copies her smirk from the infirmary.

“Thought you weren’t going to go easy on me,” she says.

Lovelace’s eyes narrow, and she bucks her hips once, then twice with a grunt of effort. There’s a growl hovering somewhere under her breath when Renée doesn’t budge.

“I have to say, this doesn’t _feel_ like you’re going easy on me,” she continues, leaning in close until Lovelace is practically panting in her face with frustration. She looks up at Renée, eyes searching for something, and then suddenly she’s moving.

Renée shifts her weight, ready to counter again, and then she’s the one who freezes. Lovelace hasn’t tried to roll them, she’s coming in - coming closer - and she’s kissing Renée. 

Those narrowed eyes have fallen shut, even as Renée still stares in shock. Lovelace’s fingers dig hard into Renée’s waist, her elbow presses hard into Renée’s thigh for leverage as she holds herself up quivering in the world’s longest crunch, but her lips are soft. Her hair, where it’s starting to pull free of it's ties, belies the strength of her grip as it strokes Renée’s face in whisper soft touches when they shift against each other.

Renée’s eyes flutter closed as those lips open beneath hers; one, two -

They flip. Lovelace’s grip is still strong, her body pushing down, holding Renée firmly to the mat. Tethering her to the floor of their ship, to this flimsy bit of metal orbiting an increasingly mysterious star deep in the inky black.

Anchoring her.

Lovelace’s eyes are bright with amusement, and her breath is coming in pants. “Take advantages where you can find them,” she says with a laugh. Then she’s up, reaching down to haul Renée up after her, and suddenly the world speeds back up and they’re dancing, sparring, and falling all over again.


End file.
